


Needing

by ElwritesFanworks



Series: Charlie and Lucien's Respective Issues [2]
Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Bisexuality, Daddy Kink, F/M, Family Feels, Family Issues, Fantasizing, Father Figures, Gentle Sex, Lucien being a bit of a martyr, Lucien has conflicting feelings, Lucien's traumatic life, M/M, Making Love, Masturbation, Paternal Lucien, Protectiveness, Sexual Fantasy, allusions to Jean/Lucien, but mainly Charlie/Lucien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9696161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: Lucien Blake needs to be needed.





	

* * *

It’s hard to forget the way Charlie looked at him. He has to. Lucien _has_ to. Charlie doesn’t remember, the night a muzzy fog. He’d wandered into the kitchen yawning, bundled in a dressing gown, asking if he’d been ill during the night.

“You vomited,” Lucien told him calmly. “You had quite a bit to drink.”

Charlie had been surprised to hear that, but had taken it in stride, and within a day, he was back to his old self, right as rain, ship shape and all that. Really, Lucien should have forgotten it by then, at the latest.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t. More than that, he found he didn’t want to.

Damn it all, why did he have to look at him with such… such bloody hero-worship? It was nothing like the looks Charlie gave him at work – confusion, mild interest, occasional irritation. Lucien realizes, grimly, that the unadulterated wonder in Charlie’s eyes that night has become a touchstone of memory – he revisits it multiple times a day.

It’s all a muddle, and the good doctor doesn’t like that one bit. He can’t stand the mess of it – needs linearity, a simple cause-and-effect explanation, but as is, all the different elements feed off each other. Charlie sees him as a father-figure. Charlie wanted him to touch him. Charlie wanted _him_ , and Lucien wants to feel wanted. As a provider, as a protector, he insists, but it is an empty insistence because if that were all it was he wouldn’t be wondering what Charlie’s skin tastes like.

He wants the smooth, hot flesh against his mouth, wants it rubbed raw with his beard as he puts his knowledge of anatomy to work. There are secrets to the human body – ways to stimulate and arouse that most people don’t discover for themselves, or so has been Lucien’s experience. Charlie doesn’t seem like the sort of man who’d spend an afternoon discerning where his erogenous zones were, or even, for that matter, slipping slick fingers into himself – and _there,_ that’s the thought that truly seals his fate, Lucien thinks, brow furrowing as his hand comes down to rest against the front of his trousers.

It’s late. Late as last time – he can remember the sound of Charlie in the hall, and as he works open his buttons, Lucien wonders what he’d do, if Charlie were to barge into his study unannounced and catch him like this.

The thrill the thought inspires is ludicrously shameful, and he is keenly aware that Charlie is a coworker, and inexperienced, and, moreover, that a bit of a drunken fumble does not a case of bisexuality make. He knows nothing of Charlie’s preferences – he barely knows the man at all – certainly not enough to justify being so affected. He tells himself these things as he pulls himself out of his flies and rubs his thumb across the dewy slit of his urethra.

It has been some time since he’s taken himself in hand and thought about a man. Since just after parting from his wife – when the ache of worry, of hoping and praying she was alright, made every imagined curve of a woman painful to him. He’d needed the contrast, then. Flat chest, strong, lean build, and short hair… yes. It had been enough to carry him through.

Then things had changed, and the hurt had begun to mend, and now, more often than not, Lucien thinks of women – of a woman with a safe, familiar smell and an endurance and a fierceness to her that he respects enough to feel a touch of guilt when he imagines them together. He feels less guilt imagining Charlie in a similar state, because Charlie started this, but he does feel a bit like a lecher, which unnerves him. He’s never considered his appetites to be too outlandish, but Charlie has done something – opened a door – and really, Blake supposes he should have seen it coming, after all.

It’s just too easy – feels too natural – to imagine things going differently. If Charlie had fewer drinks, if Lucien had fewer moral principles, it could’ve happened that night. He could’ve had him over the desk – or no, no, in the chair, as he is now. Lucien sitting, with the young man in his lap. Facing each other, so that he could see more of that affection-starved gleam in Charlie’s eyes.

He wants it badly, wants the warmth and the comfort and wants to see Charlie come. He wants Charlie to call him ‘Daddy,’ wants to take him slowly, gently, until the boy falls apart.

Tenderness. Tenderness because there’s so much _roughness_ in the world, and no matter how hard Lucien tries, he can never seem to shelter anyone completely.

In the end, it’s that thought that undoes him. Not the imagined tightness of another person as Lucien bucks into his fist, nor the breathless noises he’s sure Charlie would make, if he were taken. It’s the aftermath – sticky fingers tangled in sweat-damp hair, praise murmured softly, _that’s it, my boy, that’s it. I’ve got you… Daddy’s got you…_ shushing and rocking the young man’s sex-pliant body in his arms, kissing his throat, bundling him up in his arms.

Lucien’s too self-aware to deny what the evidence in his cupped hand says. He needs attachment, has needed it – and been afraid of it – all his life. He will do precisely nothing with this knowledge. He will put it away where it belongs. If he misses his wife and daughter, he will find them here, in Jean’s smile, in the fondness he has for Mattie. He will protect and he will shelter as he has always done, and he will fail as he has always done, more likely than not, but he will _try._ Taking Charlie to bed is the antithesis of that effort – the admittance that the only safety he can offer is the temporary sanctuary of his arms.

He should go and wash his hand. Lucien knows this, but he doesn’t. He sits, and he stares at his issue as it dries, and he wonders if he’ll ever be too old to hold the world up on his shoulders.


End file.
